


Worship

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Body Worship, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Religious Undertones, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7774375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble request with the prompt 'OptiRatch with body worship'</p><p>“Will you let me tell you what I see?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

“Optimus!” Ratchet yelped, back struts arching nearly off the berth. His spike had only just been released under the insistent pressure of Optimus’s servo against his panel, and already the Prime had settled on the floor between his legs and taken Ratchet into his mouth nearly to the hilt. The sheer suddenness of pleasure left the medic feeling nearly giddy with how quickly his processor spun, a static laced laugh escaping him before he could stop it as he asked, “What’s gotten into you?”

The answer wasn’t immediate as Optimus continued to bob his helm, his glossa dragging along each subtle ridge of Ratchet’s spike while his digits traced the transformation seams of Ratchet’s thighs and hips. Ratchet braced one elbow against the berth and reached down with his free servo to cup the side of Optimus’s helm.

Optimus’s half-dimmed optics brightened and flicked up to look at Ratchet. Where the medic had expected to see mischief in the Prime’s gaze, however, he instead saw something almost – almost _sad_. Immediately, the lust in Ratchet’s field was drowned out by concern.

“Optimus?”

After a momentary pause in his movements, the Prime slowly pulled his lips off of Ratchet’s spike. With his mouth now unoccupied, Optimus’s expression gave away that something was lingering in his processor. Ratchet stroked his thumb along Optimus’s cheek, waiting.

“I overheard the children asking if you had a romantic partner,” Optimus finally admitted with a small frown.

Ratchet couldn’t help a long ex-vent.

“They were asking everyone. I’m surprised they didn’t ask you.”

“They did later.” Optimus’s frown only deepened. “I simply told them I did not.”

Ratchet moved his servo up to stroke Optimus’s finial while he filled his field with comfort. This was a discussion they had every few centuries when either the Prime’s guilt caught up with him or Ratchet’s self-doubt acted up. “We both agreed it’s safer this way,” Ratchet reminded Optimus. Neither enjoyed hiding their relationship, but a fear of their priorities being questioned or that the truth would eventually get to the Decepticons had held their glossae.

Surprisingly though, Optimus simply nodded as he replied, “I know. It’s unfortunate, but it is for the best while we’re still at war.”

Ratchet’s optic ridges furrowed. “Then what’s wrong?”

Optimus stared up at him, optics cycling, as he asked, “Was that what you always say when asked if you have a partner?”

Stiffening, Ratchet glanced away. “I’m not particularly good at lying, you know that.”

Optimus’s field flickered with irritation.

“So you ask them to look at you and based on what they see make the assumption that you do not have someone.”

Ratchet had never really thought much of it. It was easy, when asked, to just roll his optics and reply “Have you seen me?” with self-deprecating humor and leave it at that. It was a line he had used long before Optimus, when he assumed himself unlovable; before they fell into each other so perfectly, before it became important for bots to assume he was still unattached.

“It’s always worked,” Ratchet said quietly, unsure if he was trying to make an argument or a confession.

A moment passed in silence before Ratchet startled at the sensation of Optimus’s lips brushing along the half of his depressurized spike that had not yet retreated into its housing. The Prime was staring up at him, as if waiting for the medic to meet his gaze again before speaking.

“Will you let me tell you what I see?”

Ratchet huffed, replying, “When have I ever said no to you?”

Optimus hummed quietly as he pressed his thumb against Ratchet’s valve, stroking up and down along the opening while he laid nearly chaste kisses to Ratchet’s spike. It wasn’t the fast and heavy pleasure of before but that did not stop Ratchet from growing slick under the pad of Optimus’s digit and pressurizing again.

“I would tell you that you’re beautiful,” Optimus began, all but nuzzling Ratchet’s spike as he spoke, “but I know you’ll dismiss that easily enough.”

Ratchet shrugged, playing at nonchalance even as his hips jerked under the too soft touches. “Beauty _is_ subjective and you’re rather biased.”

“Perhaps.” There was no holding back the quiet groan as finally Optimus’s thumb slipped inside. However, it was gone nearly as quickly. “I will try to instead be more specific about what I see.”

“I think what you can see right now is the result of you teasing me,” Ratchet all but grumbled, trying to move his hips down to chase after that wonderful servo.

Optimus chuckled, his ex-vent cool against the medic’s inner thigh before placing a warm kiss against the armor, followed by a second and then a third, each moving further down towards his knee. Ratchet fought to keep still as he waited for the path to return to his array. Instead, Optimus’s servos followed, slowly caressed along his thighs, slipping behind the armor of his knee to pluck at sensor-laden wires, tracing the grooves of his tires.

“When I see you,” Optimus said as he lifted Ratchet’s pede off the ground, cradling it in his servos with utmost care, “I see legs which have traversed battlefields and galaxies alike to stay at my side.” The Prime’s head dipped low, optics offlining as he prostrated himself to press a kiss to the top of Ratchet’s pede.

For one wonderful, blasphemous moment, Ratchet wondered if this was what it felt like to be Primus himself.

Circuit-searing heat roared through Ratchet’s in a full-frame shudder, his fans kicking up in a sorry attempt to combat it. When Optimus onlined his optics to gaze up at him with reverence, the medic’s body boiled all the hotter as he gaped at the Prime.

Embarrassment quickly joined the burning arousal and the combination threatened to consume Ratchet.

“O-Optimus, you don’t have to – this is unnecessary,” Ratchet sputtered, sitting up fully on the berth edge to reach down and try to pull Optimus up by his shoulder plates. “You’re made your point so get off the floor—”

Optimus shifted up onto his knees again and released Ratchet’s pede only to lift his servos up to cradle Ratchet’s helm instead. With a single tug he guided Ratchet down close enough that he could press his lips on the very center of his chevron.

“I see a helm which houses the most brilliant mind I’ve ever had the honor to meet,” Optimus continued, undeterred. His ex-vent was warm against the plating as his digits caressed the short finials along the sides of Ratchet’s helm.

“Optimus, please,” Ratchet managed, quieter now. “You’ve made your point.”

A serene smile graced Optimus’s lips as he pulled away to look him in the optic. His servos moved, digits delicate as they trailed down the sides of Ratchet’s face, tracing the curves of his cheeks and angles of his optic ridges.

“I see a face,” Optimus said, laying another kiss on Ratchet’s chin, “which I have been graced with for thousands of years” – yet another kiss to one cheek – “and which I could see every day for millions more” – and a final kiss to the other cheek – “and my spark would still pulse faster every time I saw you again.”

Ratchet’s servos trembled as they lifted to bracket Optimus helm. His spark swelled, heavy with affection.

Optimus did not deny him when Ratchet closed the distance between their lips.

But then the Prime pulled away far too soon, leaving Ratchet chasing after to find only a cheek. Optimus had cupped one of the medic’s servos with his own, and held it in place as he turned his helm to kiss Ratchet’s palm.

A flicker of mischievousness escaped into Optimus’s field as his glossa slipped between Ratchet’s digits. Heat bloomed in Ratchet’s interface array, all at once reminding him of the slickness of his valve, and his thighs tried to close only to clasp the kneeling Ptime between them. There was no hiding the whine building in Ratchet’s vocalizer or the way his hips shifted on the berth.

“Without your servos,” Optimus murmured, rubbing circles against Ratchet’s palm before interlocking his digits with the medic’s, “the Autobot cause would have long been lost.”

Ratchet’s venting hitched and his servo squeezed Optimus’s. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Optimus it was enough, that it was too much, that he never wanted him to stop, that his spark felt as if it was choking him with affection and embarrassment and arousal and love.

All Ratchet managed was to quietly moan Optimus’s name as the Prime’s free servo dragged along the armor of his arm, arcs of static brilliant white in its wake.

“Your powerful arms have carried countless injured soldiers away from battlefields and certain death.” Ratchet shivered with every press of that gorgeous mouth against his plating, trailing from his servo up to his shoulder at a leisurely pace. Optimus lingered by his shoulder, resting his helm against the sturdy armor. “Including myself on more occasions than you like to admit.”

Ratchet’s free servo reached out to again grasp at Optimus’s shoulder, but this time it was to anchor himself against the waves of affection in the Prime’s field, washing over his own again and again. His spark seemed to push against the inside of its housing.

And then Ratchet’s other servo was released.

Ratchet cycled his optics wide, unaware of when they had dimmed to almost nothing, and stared as both of Optimus’s palms moved to lay flat against his chest. The Prime’s bowed his helm, focused on the space between his servos.

“And thick armor to house and protect the spark—” Optimus offlined his optics and kissed the plating separating him from the very spark that thundered in Ratchet’s chest “—which is dearer to me than my own.”

With a sharp in-take, Ratchet felt his chest shift before he could even think to stop it, as if his frame was no longer capable of containing the pounding pressure. The light of his spark spilled out and bathed his Prime’s face in blue. Where Ratchet had expected relief, the feeling in his chest only seemed to grow tighter with the way Optimus gazed at his spark as if it was something holy.

As if Ratchet was sacred.

And finally the overwhelming flood of emotions broke through.

Ratchet leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Optimus’s shoulders, nuzzling his face against the other’s helm until Optimus lifted it and finally, _finally_ , Ratchet captured those lips with his own again. His frame shifted to the edge of the berth until he unceremoniously slipped into the too small space between it and Optimus’s frame. Thighs stretched wide and awkwardly across the Prime’s as Optimus sat back on his pedes to make room and hips rolled with desperation as Ratchet licked his way into his Prime’s mouth.

Optimus’s servos were firm as they grasped at Ratchet’s hips to keep him close.

“Ratchet—”

Without a thought, Ratchet covered Optimus’s mouth with his servo, his ventilations hurried as he said, “Don’t you dare say another word. I don’t think my spark could take anymore without burning itself out. Just—just open up and get inside me.”

He could feel Optimus smile against his palm before nodding. There was no way to hear the shifting panels over the roar of cooling fans, but Ratchet could feel the Prime’s spike pressurize against his own. Ratchet choked back a whine as he managed to lift and tilt his hips so the head was pressed against his valve. He could not however keep from groaning as he sank down onto Optimus.

Their position was far from ideal, leaving them little space to do more than rock and grind against each other, but still Ratchet felt the building pressure already nearing an overload.

Ratchet removed his servo from Optimus’s mouth and the Prime surged forward to kiss him. The servo drifted down to rest against Optimus’s chest, and it was in the muffled press of lips that Ratchet murmured, “This too.”

Hardly a second passed before Optimus’s chest shifted and the space between them became blindingly bright as the light of their sparks met and tangled together.

Pleasure and adoration surged through Ratchet’s systems until all he could do was wrap his arms around his Prime and hold on as he trembled and shook through his release.

As Optimus shuddered in his hold, a rumbling whine caught in his vocalizer as he found his pleasure in Ratchet, an almost smug grin pulled at Ratchet’s lips as they pressed against his Prime’s.

And he wondered if Primus was jealous.


End file.
